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It seems the success of The Last Dance – Michael Jordan settling old scores, for 10 hours, with a backdrop of unbelievable highlights, championships, individual hardships, inner demons, and more success and score-settling – provided Australia’s greatest bowler, and sporting showman, Shane Warne, with the inspiration to provide us his own controlled narrative documentary.
Yes, you can go now to selected cinemas and watch SHANE. Then from January 25, you can stream it on Amazon Prime.
You might not learn anything new about Warney from the documentary, but you will get some random, and lengthy, insights from uber celebrity musicians, Ed Sheeran and Chris Martin, too much footage of Warney kicking the footy and lots of cut shots of Melbourne trams and St Kilda beach.
Unfortunately, that is the problem with a heavily balanced one-way narrative towards good-guy vibes.
This doco needed the Isiah Thomas character. The arch-enemy. Show us the dark side!
Steve Waugh could have been that guy. And his exclusion is the opportunity missed for documentary magic. You’d pay money to hear what Steve Waugh really thinks of Warne and the ninja stars he’s been throwing at him for 20 years.
What was their relationship? How toxic was it for the playing group? I’d love to hear about the challenges of being Warne’s captain and team-mate. Maybe in SHANE2?
Australian cricketer Shane Warne takes a snooze on the shoulder of Steve Waugh, as the players prepare to pose for the official Australian Cricket Board World Cup team picture at the Crown Casino,Melbourne, Australia. Mandatory Credit: Robert Cianflone/ALLSPORT
It wouldn’t be a documentary on Warne without the Gatting ball. And to be honest, I watched that section of the documentary three times before moving on. Why? Like many kids of my generation, that delivery was a defining moment for my love of cricket.
When Warney toured England for the first time, 1993, I was at an age where life’s events have a large impact on who you will become and the type of person you want to be.
At age 11, your environment is everything, and mine was one filled with footy, cricket and sandwiches.
To this day, I can still remember the colour of the lounge room curtains, which pyjamas I was wearing, and which mug I was drinking from when Warney delivered the greatest delivery I’ve ever seen.
The enormity of that one freak ball was like that. For everyone. Global!! A real “where were you” moment.
It changed the way I viewed Australian cricket and cricketers.
My environment played a part in this. I am the youngest of two brothers. There is a 4-year age gap between us, and my brother, Sam, was bare knuckle persuasive when it came to the rules of backyard cricket.
He would recreate the batting dominance of our great Australian heroes. I would play exclusively as England. And was only ever allowed to bowl, because when I would finally dismiss all 11 of his Australian batters, his back would hurt and he would go inside to dominate all of mother’s affection.
In a twist of fate, this environment steered me in the direction of Darren Gough. I too was short, with a big bum, and loved his attack on every facet of the game. Everything was 100%. The pace in his run up to the crease, his bustling action and the fact that he delivered every ball like the future of earth depended on it being hurled at the batter with everything he had. Every ball mattered. I held the same competitive juices and I loved him.
Sadly for my Gough worship, and fast bowling aspiration, my bum got too big and I didn’t grow, so pursuing the craft of the most entertaining cricketer of the time was a no brainer.
Let me fizz and drop that thing off the side of the wicket and past your outside edge to clip off stump.
As much as I felt aligned to Gough, here was this blonde-haired bogan, whose first love was footy – a dude who I could relate too because I would have given my left arm to play in the AFL and have strong bogan roots – pulling off miracle wizardry on the world stage.
It inspired me, my friends, you, your friends, my brother the bully, his bully mates and for a long period of time – well, until the realisation that we hadn’t dismissed anyone in backyard games for 12 months and scoring rates had increased dramatically through our inability to be Shane Warne and bowl the devils creation– we bowled exclusive leg spin, wore zinc on our bottom lip, dyed our hair peroxide blonde and smoked ciggies.
Truly, I dabbled in leg-spin, and Winfield Blue, until I was 15.
During that time, I didn’t ever land back-to-back regulation turners and couldn’t work a wrong-un or a toppy. Small chubby hands you see. Not even big enough to hold a power chord on an electric guitar.
I tried out for the Tasmanian Under 17s as a batter, who bowled some leggies, and made the team as the opening bowler who batted at 11.
Fate. Welcome back the Darren Gough posters.
This was the Warne effect. That is how big of an impact the Gatting ball had one me. And I know I wasn’t alone.
I didn’t get to play against Warne a great deal, but there was one Shield game where I got to face him. And you know what they say about meeting your heroes!
It was in 2008 when Tassie played a Shield game against the Vics at the MCG.
(Photo by Daniel Pockett/Getty Images)
Of course, the MCG is famous for several historic moments for Warney, but the one that sticks out for me – because I was in the crowd as a fan – was his 700th test wicket. First the wizardry, delivering the perfect leg spinning delivery to the left-handed Andrew Strauss, then the entertainer; running left to rejoice on his own at first, one arm raised and the index finger wagging solo at the end of the arm to ensure the 90,000 strong crowd and the international TV audience knew he was no.1!
So when Warne inevitably dismissed me in that Shield game, looping up a wrong-un only for me to whack back a simple return catch, I didn’t immediately leave the crease. I lurked around hoping to see Warne the entertainer. What I saw will haunt me forever – I got nothing.
The ball was handed back to the umpire and then he proceeded to decline high fives from his team-mates, such was the lack of respect for my dismissal. I was heart-broken. And any self-respect I had departed my body as we trudged off the MCG together.
Warney was my Australian cricketing hero as a kid, and the dealings I had with him socially, and on the field, were always memorable.
He always asked how you were and meant it. He cared. If you want proof of this, you’ll see (should you watch the documentary and make it all the way to the end) him dash across two teams of people to shake my hand as we stood in a guard of honour before the opening match of the IPL in 2008 – Delhi Daredevils v Rajasthan Royals of which he was Captain/Coach. He didn’t have to check in and say ‘g’day’, particularly given the enormity of that game/tournament/moment for him, but he did, and it meant an awful lot to me at the time.
The man is a global icon who was engaged to Liz Hurley. Elizabeth Hurley!! VANESSA KENSINGTON!!
He meets the criteria for a controlled narrative documentary.